every afternoon, at four o’clock sometimes, sometimes at five o’clock, sometimes later even, we had our evening battle. the morning rounds completed, the colonel returned to headquarters, where i saw no more of him for an hour or two. that time was my own, when i crawled under the wretched awning of my funk-hole, and settled down to grill through the heat of the day. by three or four o’clock invariably the colonel came to life again, arriving in the open to stretch and collect periscope and glasses. then he would call out, “come on, lake!” and tread again the little path up the hill to the valley head.
sometimes we took the left-hand trenches, where there was an observing station in sands’s charge; but more often at the b battery observing station the fight had birth.
every evening we asked for trouble, put in a round here and a round there until we got it, and with little enough need it seemed; but maybe the army would have lost hope had nothing like this happened. for through much of the day—when even the flies fell exhausted into the tea—the[235] snipers of either army lost heart to snipe, and the gunners lay by their guns wondering how it was they could not die. but as the sun climbed down his ladder, and a flagging breeze puffed off the sea, we rose again to our feet, picked up periscopes and telephones, and goaded ourselves into another evening hate.
at this time—late spring or early summer—the turkish army had lately spent a mighty effort to drive us into the sea. purging the beach of our presence, they called it in their newspapers. the old knowledge was reproven—hopeless to attack well-armed, well-entrenched troops. at the end of several fierce hours the attempt was spent, and the enemy reeled to his trenches leaving on a few acres of ground between three and four thousand dead. everywhere you looked the dead men lay, and hours later you might see an arm move or a leg rise, where some poor fellow cried on death not to delay. in time the breath of decay searched you out the length of shrapnel valley, and when the wind veered in the trenches it caught you by the throat. i marvelled how the men there got down their dinners.
one evening, on the heels of the big attack, we had a pretty little battle. the colonel observed from b battery station, and i carried orders to the telephonist a few yards away.
the major had not turned up, and mr. hay was in charge. b battery was dusting up “c” or “collins street” or one of the usual targets, and the other batteries banged away elsewhere with more than daily hate. a great many snipers[236] were at work too on either side. we had woken up this afternoon.
the great heat of the day had passed, indeed there were one or two signs of evening. the sun was three parts of the way down the sky, and shadows started to grow at the bottom of every bush. the high noon haze was no more, and you could see with great clearness over all the desolate country. our shells burst in sudden white clouds on the great hill in the distance; and here and here, did you know where to look, moved the puff of the enemy’s return fire. and nearer at hand, you could follow the turkish trenches by the vicious, short-lived dust spurts of our bullets.
where the colonel took his stand, they were tunnelling out a machine-gun position; and every few moments men came out of the earth with freshly filled sandbags on their shoulders. they crowded the narrow passage, blocking me every time i hurried to mr. hay or the telephonist.
the colonel stood on a platform, head just under the parapet, periscope just above. his size caused him to crouch, and his legs were wide apart. the brisker grew the battle, the more engrossed became he; so that now he never moved his head, but stayed bent forward staring into the glass. his exclamations made to himself were to be heard. “that’s a good one! very good! right on the target! that’s pretty shooting! green’s into ’em now! oh, damn! now they’re off! hay has got off! are you there, lake?”
i stood just below watching for the least sign, for when he grew interested, often a movement[237] of the hand was all his signal, and at best he would jerk out an abrupt word or two. now i answered, “yes, sir,” and stood ready. “tell mr. hay to come over more. two degrees more right. that’s better, that’s better! still he can come over more. two degrees more right, tell him!”
away went i. mr. hay was at the periscope and nodded to show he had heard. as i moved off again, he called out: “tell the colonel they seem to be waving flags over there. they seem to want to attract attention. they were doing it before, and now they have started again.” i told the colonel what he said, but got no answer for my pains. i would have looked myself had there been time.
“that’s better, that’s better!” the colonel started to say. “now he is short! damn it, he’s short! lake, tell him to add fifty. say he wants fifty or a hundred.” i took the message and came back again, finding time to sit down. the action went on, losing little or nothing of its briskness. then came word down the line, passed in a mysterious unofficial way, that something was happening on the other side; the enemy was waving flags and looking over the parapets, as if to attract attention. but it seemed no more was to come of it, as the fire went on and the moment’s excitement was spent. yet five minutes later it had grown again, and methought something must happen now. i itched to see how matters went, but i must not leave the spot. the firing lost heart, becoming a number of sharp[238] explosions in place of an unbroken roll. again the word came along. the colonel took interest finally and stopped a passing officer to inquire, and next looked again at the opposite trenches. finally he gave word for the batteries to cease fire, and stepped down on to the floor of the trench. our part in the battle was over. i lost no time picking up a periscope and seeing all there was to see. it was little enough worth the bother. the enemy must have given up their idea, for not one flag flew, gaze as i would. i soon tired and sat down on a ledge belonging to some machine gunners who lived round here. it was their habit to sleep through the day and come out at evening. each man had a recess of his own, with a blanket hung before it to cheat the sun. their legs only were left in sight. it came about that i knew them better by their feet than their faces.
when i sat down, the colonel disappeared. maybe he went to pass the time of day with an infantry colonel whose dug-out was a few steps down the path. commonly he did this, leaving me in the trench to call him if need be. just now were several sets of legs showing beyond the blankets, and a half-hearted argument went forward.
“i joined fer the six bob of course: what else’d a bloke do it fer?”
“i joined ’cos i ’ad a row with the old woman. i went out in a ’urry and joined right away, and i blasted well wish i ’adn’t.”
“what did you join fer, darkie? was it the six bob, or a row with yer tart, or was the police[239] after yer?” darkie made no answer. “wot was it, darkie?”
“i joined cos i thought a bloke ought ter join.”
it was like the bursting of an 8·25 shell. nobody said anything. nobody moved at all. i looked around for a museum to put the sentiment in.
we were wide awake this afternoon, and a brisk musketry fire continued. i sat where i was, hearing the noise and yet not hearing it. the sun had stepped another rung down his ladder, a few shadows spread about, and there was even a suggestion of evening cool. i don’t know what i thought of, nothing probably, for the place had power to destroy one mentally and morally. then without warning there woke again the former interest. “they’re waving the flags,” came down from the right. “there’s something doing! there’s something up!”
i got up with a yawn and went to the parapet, and there poked up the periscope, and interest came with a vengeance. straight before me was a big white flag charged with a red crescent, moving slowly forwards and backwards over the enemy parapet, and while i watched a second one rose up on our right and at odd intervals appeared other streamers which might have been small flags and might have been rags. round me all who by hook or by crook could get hold of a periscope were on the platforms finding out what was happening, and this must have taken place over a great deal of the line, as presently the musketry became completely broken up and on the point of cessation.
[240]
i had taken stand among the b battery men, beside their periscope, where the parapet was quite low, and it wanted no effort to look over the top. i fell to debating whether to take the risk and see first hand how matters went, and while yet i stayed uncertain something happened to decide me on the moment. there was a movement in the enemy’s trench beside the largest flag, and a man climbed over the parapet and dropped on to the open ground. he stood still a moment in uneasy fashion, next took into his hands the big white flag with the red crescent, held it overhead, and came forward. i felt like crying out my admiration. our snipers shot yet in scores, in hundreds may be; and any moment a stray shot or the aimed shot of a fool might tumble him over where he stood. and no one knew the danger better than himself, for he bowed his head and upper body as does a man advancing in the teeth of a great wind, and came forward with deliberate steps, moving his wide flag in wider semicircles. to the devil with caution, said i, and stood right up and looked across the open. “by jove!” i must exclaim out loud. “by jove!” beside me was mr. hay, and he looked round to know had i gone mad.
news had travelled everywhere that something special was on hand, for cries went up and down: “cease fire there! cease fire!” and the firing did die away, though unwillingly, lessening and returning again in gusts, like an april wind or a woman’s last word in an argument. even when you might say the musketry had stopped, there[241] was still a splutter and a cracking here and here, for there are ever fools who cannot help themselves.
but all this while the man of peace continued on his way, at the same stride and in the same bent attitude. may be ere starting on the journey he had delivered his soul into allah’s safekeeping, for no shot touched him, and no quick fear turned him from the path. there was something that moved me deep down as i looked on his unhurried pace and the slow waving of his flag. it plucked my heart strings to see him alone there, his life not worth a smoked-out cigarette. i stood right up, all my upper body above the parapet, so that the countryside was bared before me, and a draught of evening wind born of wide spaces came a-knocking at my nostrils. all my heart cried out to him. “my salute, friend, my salute! do you hear me over there? it is gunner lake who calls. a brave man’s heart is crying out to a brave man! my salute, friend! in all honour i offer my salute!”
when the man of peace had advanced halfway, the musketry fire of both sides was nearly silent, and there was a stir of uncertainty in our ranks. you heard some crying, “cease fire,” and others calling out against it, shouting there was no order, and what the devil was everyone about. but the firing did not start again, or only in short-lived bursts, and the men hung by the loopholes, waiting what might befall. there was a stir on our side now, near clayton’s trench it seemed from here, and soon an officer came into[242] the open, with a handkerchief tied on to a stick or a rifle, i did not notice which. at the same time a couple of turks hopped from their trenches, and another of our men went forward; and it seemed they would hold a parley then and there. while i looked to see, i found the colonel at my shoulder.
“get the interpreter, lake,” he said quickly. “get bargi and bring him here. he may be wanted.” over i went to the telephonist and sent down word, then back again i came and told the colonel, and next up i jumped once more to look over the country.
the little company had come together and were in parley. the distance was a matter of hundreds of yards, so there was little enough to see and nothing to be heard. i hoped when bargi came the colonel would go over there, and i grew eager for his coming. i had become impatient, and cursed him for his fatness, when a second big flag was put up to our right hand, and two men jumped into the open and came towards our trenches, one empty-handed and one bearing with him the standard. the colonel looked round sharply, and made as if to go over there, then of a sudden he turned to me.
“where’s bargi, lake? where’s bargi?”
“he’s on the way, sir.”
“meet him and hurry him up. say i want him at once!”
i pushed towards the trench mouth as speedily as could be managed, not the least eager for the run down the hill and back again. but at the[243] turn i met bargi blowing with his exertions, and a look half-pleased, half-scared, on his sweating face. he was a little italian jew who spoke and wrote a dozen languages. by trade he had been art photographer, traveller for a firm of jewellers, and one or two other things as best i could make out. war was declared, times grew hard, and he made up his mind to go a-soldiering. but he mistook his trade. he was the most cowardly man in the brigade. “my disposition is very nervous,” he said to me once. “i am too sensitive.” and he shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. “sensitive,” thought i. “good friend, we call it by another name.”
he got on badly with the other men, and i was sorry for him, and on the whole liked him well enough. now i pulled him up, and he panted and asked what was wanted. “the colonel wants you in a hurry. he is waiting a few yards up the trench.” no more was said. bargi went on without more speech, and i turned to follow. but lewis pulled at my sleeve and asked what was happening. he had been bargi’s guide up here. “there’s a bit of an armistice on,” i called out as i turned. “have a look for yourself. i have to get after the colonel.” and with no more i left lewis standing in the middle of the path, his hands in his pockets, and a silly stare on his face. lewis may have been a pretty fellow to look at; but he was a rank bore.
the couple of seconds’ delay had lost me bargi; and i did my best to catch him before he met the colonel and both disappeared. fortune nodding,[244] i saw their heels rounding a traverse, and caught up with them quite soon. the trench was rather empty, and the colonel moved in a great hurry, so that fat little bargi, who had not found breath, was hard put to it to keep up. we dodged round one turning and then another, nobody speaking all the way. sometimes bargi threw timid glances over a shoulder at me, for it was his first trench journey, and truly he was receiving a brusque introduction. presently the press of men grew again, curbing us to a slower rate; and next we met a crossway, which brought us to a standstill. someone put us on to the right road, and we started anew to elbow forward. finally we found our way into a sap, and this ending, we had come as far as was possible. the colonel put up his periscope to find where we were, and i jumped up on to a platform and poked my head over the parapet. you could hear the crack of a rifle now and again, but not often.
we had come to the best spot. the men and the flag were opposite. they were nearer than before, yet they had not come far over, and at this moment still looked before them in an undecided fashion. i do not doubt they cared little for the exposed position. almost at once bargi climbed up beside me, and there were the three of us in a row—the colonel looking into the periscope, the jew standing on tip-toe, peeping over the parapet, and throwing away no chance of protection, and myself at the end of the line. the two turks continued to delay, in fact went[245] so far as to make a motion of retreat. “call them, bargi!” the colonel burst out. “tell them to come on; say it’s all right!”
the little man looked anxiously about, but pulled himself together and called out something in turkish. his words failed to carry all the way, so that he clapped hands to his mouth and cried out anew, this time at the top of his voice. at once the turks were reassured; they scanned eagerly to find the voice, and after exchange of a sentence or two, came forward deliberately, the man with the standard bearing it high above his head. they were entering our half of the debatable country when some fool to the right hand fired, and set a dozen others pulling triggers. the turks turned about, and made for home at a shambling trot; but with the speed of birth the fire died, and the peacemakers steadied their retreat. then bargi called again, in time to reassure, for the runners doubtfully came back, the standard-bearer holding his flag at top height. they drew quite near, near enough for me to see clearly their appearance, when it was plainly discovered they were men of different rank.
the standard-bearer was a cut-throat-looking fellow with a black moustache and a complexion scarce lighter. i doubt if he were a pure-bred turk. he was small and well shaped; but there was that in his expression which made me fear for any dog of an unbeliever who might pass his way. he was dressed in the green uniform, with their strange pleated cap on his head. through all the dealings he spoke no word.
[246]
the man beside him, the empty-handed man, was quite otherwise. he was dressed as an officer, and proved a doctor. he was a man of manners, a man of civilisation, a gentleman. he came to the parley with french on his lips.
the two men crossed the half-line boundary, and came so close in that the colonel put up his hand to stop them, lest they should arrive on top of our works. “tell them to stay there, bargi!” he broke out. “tell them to come no farther!” bargi halted them. he had taken courage, the fire being dead; he spoke fluently, and seemed to enjoy his importance. his dusky face glowed with satisfaction and sweat.
“get up, bargi,” the colonel said of a sudden. “go out and meet them. it’s quite safe, man. go on!”
poor little bargi collapsed. it was one matter to peep over a parapet top, and quite another to stand up in the open like a tree, a target for all the world. he gave the colonel a look of agony. “hurry up, man!” was what he got for his trouble.
he began his climb, and i had scrambled up first and pulled him the last of the way. he made no attempt to go farther, and it did not matter, the turks having arrived within talking distance. yet it seemed fate would refuse us our parley, for someone let a machine gun loose—australian or turk i do not know, but may allah smite him! the bullets sang by my head like a swarm of mad bees. there was no time for “after you, sir.” bargi tumbled back into[247] the trench, and i jumped down on top of him. a brisk burst of rifle fire broke out on both sides, and then died with all suddenness. next i was up on the parapet again. the turkish peacemakers had run for their own lines, for now they returned.
bargi was sadly disinclined for a second re-appearance in the open, but there was nothing for it, and presently he stood on top beside me. the turks were near at hand again, too close for the colonel’s pleasure; and he waved bargi forward in abrupt fashion. openly reluctant, bargi went.
the meeting was a meeting of dancing masters. they put their hands to their foreheads and bowed profoundly; they advanced and bowed once more; they smiled with utmost courtesy and bowed anew. next they fell to talking loudly, but in the accents of men who ask the other’s good health, and who rejoice at the fineness of the day. and while they talked, i picked out a seat on the mound before the parapet, and sat down to watch. it was so near evening one might sit at ease out in the sunlight.
aye, it was a sight you might seek in vain on many a summer’s day. there stood up the two great armies, the turkish army and the troops of australasia, filling the mouths of the trenches, and staring one another in the face. men that had lived days on end between two narrow, sun-baked walls, men that had lifted heads above a certain level at risk of their lives, now looked over the great bare country, and widened their lungs[248] with breezes new from the sea. the sky was filling with clear white clouds, the ground was sown with shadows; and endless heights and depths climbed up and tumbled away. and there were swift greens and blues and greys splashed over the picture, and earthy reds, and glistening patches of sand. and for background were the big hills leaning against the sky.
and rank after rank, from foot to skyline, stood soldiers in their thousands. the reserves were countless. and look you to the right hand, and look you to the left, you were met by our men, their heads lifted over the parapets, or themselves a-top swinging their legs. and between the armies lay the debatable land, pocked with dead men and broken rifles. ye gods! it was a sight worth the looking.
where i sat the ground fell sharply away, and a few yards down the slope rested three of our dead, lying with heads close together. and look where you would, you would come on part of a man—a pair of boots pushed from a mound; a hand; an elbow; or may be it was the flutter of a piece of coat. the burials had been by night—graves forced from hard ground, with few minutes to give to the building. the mounds had settled and betrayed their secrets.
of turks fallen in the last attack there was no end: it was a day’s task to count them.
there came down the line word that general runner parleyed with the other group. i looked across. several men stood together, but no more could i discover.
[249]
no sooner was the fire of both armies well dead than a number of turks jumped from their trenches and fell with right good energy to filling their arms with the rifles which lay in scores about the field. speedily men were staggering home loaded to their limit. and a sniper who sniped from an exposed position fell to digging himself in in generous style. the colonel let out a bellow. “stop those men! stop them this minute! bargi, stop those men!” bargi grasped what was wanted, pointed it out to the flag-bearers, and with lusty shouting the men were recalled. but the man?uvre gained the enemy half a hundred rifles, and methinks the sniper had a more spacious parlour from that hour.
it was our last interruption. it seemed the enemy asked a truce for the burial of their dead. bargi ran forwards and backwards, swollen with importance. the colonel could do no more than receive the message; but the brigadier was with the other group and would have more power. in course of time word arrived empowering the colonel to announce the enemy might send a staff officer by way of gaba tepeh next morning, when the matter would be discussed. bargi floundered over the explanation, and a big lieutenant of infantry climbed up to help him. the man must have been among the largest in the army. “you’ll be a good advertisement for australia,” the colonel said. and seeing i was all anxiety to follow, he added, “no, lake, this is not your stunt.”
it was all over presently. the men of truce[250] agreed to take back the message, and fire would open again in a few minutes. afresh they saluted, afresh they bowed: and our men came this way, and they turned that. the colonel gathered up glasses and periscope; and we went off to tea. on the way we ran into a party placing in position a trench mortar. and farther on we met men hurrying up with ammunition. we had roared at the turkish treachery; but who shall say our honour was over-nice? as i sat at tea, the firing broke out again in a great roll.
their staff officer rode into our lines next morning. he reappeared the morning after also, and the outcome was a truce of half a day. certain rules were framed. parties of so many from either side were allowed over so many yards, and neither party might penetrate beyond half-way. we would take their dead to them, and they would bring our dead to us.
the day and the hour came round, and peace fell over the armies. the silence was very strange. about the middle of the morning the colonel set off as usual for the trenches, and we started the rounds as on any other day from the b battery observing station. no shot was to be heard, and the trenches were emptier of men than i had seen them. without delay we passed to c battery on the pimple, and there joined colonel irons, major andrews, and major green.
behind c battery and before a, the five of us climbed from the trenches on to open ground. the sun was out, but the day was cool; and it was pleasant to stand up at ease in the open. a[251] great gathering had come about on the debatable land. it was like a day at the races, with a shabby crowd in attendance. the rule limiting the number of parties was slackly enforced, and anyone tying a white bandage to his arm to denote stretcher-bearer could go where he wanted. in this way there were numbers exploring on their own account, exchanging mementoes with the enemy, and seeing what was to be seen. the camera fiend was at large.
the burial of the dead went forward in harmony if not in love. our fellows were good willed enough and eager with curiosity; but among the enemy were many glum countenances. nor do i wonder, for it is but chilly amusement gazing into the faces of your own dead.
there were many strange sights to be found in a few hundred yards’ marching; but i have not time to tell a tenth of them. at one place was a crater in the ground where a shell had burst; and round it, like chickens come to feed at a basin, lay eight dead men. it was the prettiest bit of shooting that you might wish to see. and not so very far away was a gully, maybe twenty yards long, half that wide, and half again that deep. the turkish stretcher-bearers had gathered dead from everywhere, and tumbled them here—the place was a-choke with bodies. hundreds were there. they lay a dozen deep. they made me catch my breath. but it was when we turned to go over to a battery that we passed the scene it will take me longest to forget.
four of our own fellows lay on their backs in[252] the grass, all within a few paces. they were of those who had fallen in the first rush, and had been overlooked. their clothes were little stained, for no rains had touched them, and their hats were still cocked to one side in the jauntiest manner.
the first man was a skeleton, picked as clean as a century of waiting might do. his skull looked out between the tunic and the hat; and through the bones of his hands grasses had woven a road. one could only gape at the fellow.
the next man waited on his back too; but the fierce suns had done otherwise with him. the flesh had decayed under the skin, while the skin had stayed, becoming a dark parchment drawn tightly over the bones. every hair on head and hand remained. face and hands were tiny, the face and hands of a child they were: yet the face was full of expression, and more terrible to look on than the face of any ape.
the third man was as the second.
the fourth man had swollen up and afterwards sunk down again. i had to turn away and spit.
and those four men had been filled with great foolish hopes but a few weeks before, amen! amen!
come, hang up the gun by the chimney!
come, scabbard the sword and the dirk!
and we’ll tip-toe afar,
where the sunbeams still are,
leaving spider and mouse to their work.
the moon yet doth ride through the night, friend,
the sun yet doth warden the day:
and we’ll lie down and rest,
on the earth’s ample breast,
while these rivers of blood run away.
[253]
come, loosen the belt and the tunic,
uncover your head from its steel!
leave the mess-tin to rust!
let the flask choke with dust!
there are better things needing our zeal.
the harvest is heavy with waiting,
the eyes of our women are red;
then stay but an hour,
while the hills break in flower,
and the grasses climb over our dead!
oh foolish, oh foolish this striving!
oh empty this passion and hate!
i am laboured of breath:
i am weary to death:
come, let us forgive ere too late!
come, lend me your hand for a space, friend!
the hours and the minutes race by!
but we’ve time to lie back
on the side of the track,
till these channels of blood have run dry.
